Ilsead: Ascension, #3

By Brian Rickman

They are the stuff of nightmarish and cautionary tales told to children. Sirens of the swamps, the Ilsead lure unsuspecting suitors in an effort to climb the ranks of southern society. Then, once entrenched and under the guise of nobility, the Ilsead begin to breed. Their children born skinless, these terrible creatures then rip the flesh from Human babies in order to dress their own. Should you be unfortunate enough to be kissed by the Ilsead, she'll steal your soul and inherit your very spirit, leaving you for dead and getting high from your lifeline. These are the fabled Boo Hags of the southern wilds and, as with most folklore, it leaves such a quite unflattering portrait and, in the end, it's utter b.s. 

In truth, the Ilsead are an ancient order of souls, not of the Third Dimension. They exist to right wrongs in the present timeline. We learn that there are troublesome souls that have been directed to disrupt the preferred end of the Dark Age and these transgressors must be stopped. The Ilsead fulfill this role. Allied with the Third Order of Lucifer, the Ilsead are immortal creatures that set about their mission many millennia before, at the dawn of the Human population on Earth. They are sadly and, at best, misunderstood. In this volume of ASCENSION, we meet one such sect of Ilsead. 

The Gullah understood. At least they once did. The GeeChee of the South Carolina isles revered the Ilsead and took them in as equals and protectors. The Ilsead in turn honored their Human counterparts and made them Symposiarchs; sires that would breed new vessels as needed and direct them to the many wants of the masses. Crops were protected, oppressors were frightened away and, eventually, political offices were taken. It was all for the betterment of the timeline. 

Benny Watt, though, had an agenda. The Ilsead, he'd heard could be crudely utilized as assassins. He had certain enemies that he would prefer removed and so he longed for Edith. He dreamt of her. Perhaps he thought her a pet but he was awfully mistaken. He was predestined to meet her. Unbeknownst to him, Benny is a decedent of a great line of Symposiarchs and Edith was merely calling him home. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Dahlia
• Release date: Mar 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9780692270097

Book preview

Thanks to my family, Kendall & Mike

Text copyright © 2014 Brian Rickman

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-0692270097

ISBN-10: 0692270094

EXORDIUM

On a walkway of jagged rocks, into the mouth of a tributary, four silhouettes. One pacing, one shaking, one sobbing and another now floating away in a basket. If she were to pray, perhaps she would pray for merciful tides. The rocks are sharp on bare feet. It gets cold this time of night, on the beach.

You see what you did?! You saw it. Ain't nobody done this but you.

The stars are out; count them in pairs and circle the moon with your eye. Let the waves guide you home. The crickets sing. Wipe away your tears and shudder a breath so deep.

What are we gonna say?

The sand between your toes.

We ain't gonna say nothin'.

Lightning bugs flutter in rows.

Now finish it!!

The hammer sways back.

and Flash.

...a deep ringing in the ears, a cheek and feet cut by rocks. A twitch and blood.

A young mother bids goodnight to a child obscured by tears.

"I love you truly, truly dear,

Life with its sorrow, life with its tears

Fades into dreams, when I feel you are near

For I love you truly, truly dear."

- Carrie Jacobs-Bond

CHAPTER ONE

It was the close of another prosperous year for Benny Watt. A slight chill hung in the South Carolina breeze as his driver navigated a brand new Cadillac limousine over the still-rough terrain of Charleston County. Benny had upgraded this year. Business had been so superior that he'd opted for a limousine to replace last year's coupe. Certainly, as October began, he knew that he had many reasons to be cheerful.

It was 1912 for another few months, and while the year had been good to him, as it came to an end he'd begun to feel a sense of emptiness. Maybe it was the change of temperature, or perhaps he was only bored. In another time, he might have been termed depressed. All Benny knew was that something felt amiss.

This had been a strange year after all. He'd started feeling most uneasy when the Titanic sank. A certain sense of mortality came over him as he read the papers, detailing the horrifying last moments of those passengers. In truth, death had never occurred to Benny; the finality of it all. Years before, when his mother passed on, he took comfort in the random assurances of strangers that her spirit now resided willfully in Heaven. And why should he not? Life and death, Noon and night, were nothing more than the balance of things.

His life was one of meetings, travel, and catastrophic discord. Until that boat sank, Benny had little reason to ponder the intangibles of consciousness. There existed far too many other, pressing items on his agenda. He'd concluded that he might grapple with the concept of extinction in his final minutes. But who wants to vanish in a panic?

A lucky man never anticipates his demise. Without a moment’s notice, his soul is cast asunder. He meets his end wholly unaware that he might question his destination. Benny imagined that an ignorant death must surely be the most tranquil one of all.

Those unfortunate souls on that mammoth ship, however, had ample time for their bodies to scurry about and search for escape. Likewise, as they must have run from one bow to another, desperate for lifeboats, so did their minds frantically fire synapses, searching for ancient and locked memories pointing them to the next direction hereafter. No, Benny had concluded, this sort of terror would never do. It was best to search his mind for sustainable resolutions now, and so he set himself about this task.

Thereafter, the insomnia began. It was an uncomfortable sleeplessness; more than a bother remedied by warm milk. He kept himself awake in bed for weeks on end, dozing only for moments. His mind raced, mostly attempting to justify an afterlife. The energy in his body had to go somewhere he first concluded. But, then as quickly as he comforted himself, the abject terror of ceasing to be would startle him awake again. It could happen at any time and what would he have to show for it? A grandiose and vacant home left without benefactors.

Benny, of course, made his weekly pilgrimage to church as was expected of any Southern man of stature. But now, he didn’t find any peace in those uncomfortable pews. The reverend gave speeches and nothing more. In truth, Benny didn’t find the man to be all that intelligent. Were he not positioned behind that pulpit he’d be nothing more than a beggar ranting doomsday prophecies. These fantastical tales of improbable floods and cherubs with wings demanded further investigation.

And so he read books; lots of books. Religious texts and every manner of spiritual wordplay now littered his den. Within these tomes Benny found hardly more than speculation and further archaic meanderings within indecipherable mythologies. This gave him little comfort in the face of an eternity of nothingness. After all, Benny was a practical man. He’d been raised as such.

Choosing a religion, it seemed, was akin to some bizarre shell game where one might never find the pea. Why then should he render mortal obedience to any of these competing entities, all of which appeared unwilling to assure him that the entire enterprise was nothing more than a farce? He was implored to have Faith... but faith in what, exactly? For all he knew, it was one long con. Some proof of nirvana would be nice. Otherwise, these were only stories. Drivel told to placate the masses when they awoke sentient, suddenly clear that their lives of toil might be all for naught.

Benny found it most absurd that, in this day of grand exploration and learning, there existed no hard science to be read on matters of life after death. Why was this not considered an issue of great importance? The academics he knew spoke breathlessly of advances in mathematics made by Whitehead & Russell. They were thrilled and sat, mouths agape, to hear tales of the race to the South Pole.

On the rare occasion that Benny might venture questions regarding his subject of interest, it proved an unpopular topic. Instead of answers, his queries were greeted with assurances of certain things existing beyond the realm of human understanding. Besides, he was told, as a young man he had bountiful years ahead of him. Why should he worry himself with such things?

That is until he met a tipsy biologist, stoic and boorish, at gala dinner held for the Governor. It was this man who feared not to mince words with Benny. He said quite unequivocally that when death beckoned, there was to be nothing more. What awaited all life when the heart stopped beating and the electricity inside sputtered its last spark, was an everlasting void, one of which all things had known once before in the eternity prior to birth. It was this icy pronouncement of a learned man that concerned Benny the most. While this had reluctantly become his own assumption on the matter, Benny was certainly not searching for concurrence.

For, if this were truly the case; if death meant that his consciousness would be unceremoniously erased like so many specks of chalk on a blackboard, what was the point of it all? This inferred that life itself was nothing more than a futile exercise of biding time. It was merely one, long walk approaching a ridiculous and grand flash of insignificance. This would never do.

In the end, Benny was an irritable wreck of anxiety. He saw his doctor and was given something called Veronal. It finally put him to sleep and it could be said that, ultimately, he felt better. In his stupefied state, his phobia became a diplomatic blur, forever dancing in his peripheral vision and only rarely antagonizing him when he was alone.

But he was always alone. Benny shared his ostentatious home with a trusted staff of three. Yet, save one, these were the sort of friends that called him ‘sir’. Today, he had no real confidants to speak of. There was no one to detract his attention away from these volumes of the occult and the lingering, stale air of death that forever circled above him.

One late night, enlightenment struck. Benny rubbed his eyes and slammed one of those books shut. He had drawn a stern conclusion. To eradicate his fear completely, the solution, he thought, was to no longer live alone. He would require, at worst, a distraction, at best, someone who might share his obsessions; a partner on this short road to cessation.

So, then, he had been looking very much forward to this trip. Benny was on his way to see his favorite colleague, David Morehouse. Good times were always to be had in David's company. There would be parties and lively conversation. David knew fascinating people and he spared no expense to entertain them. Prior to Benny’s foray into the morose, they had been kindred spirits. This trip might finally shake him out of his melancholia. Further, he had hoped to ask him a favor.

As the car approached David's palatial estate, Benny's spirits began to rise. He lit a cigar and tapped his driver on the shoulder.

You did remember the wine, right?

Yes, of course, sir. It's in the trunk with the oranges. Another shipment will arrive tomorrow.

Good man. Thank you.

The driver rounded the estate's circular driveway and David bounded down the stairs to meet his guest. He was all smiles and opened Benny's door with a flourish.

Welcome, Mr. Watt, to my humble abode.

Humble, my ass, Benny joked as he exited the vehicle. My God, did you add three more wings to this place since I've been here last?

David laughed, shook his hand and gave him a hug. Well, my friend, what can I say? Business is good.

Indeed. Indeed it is. It's great to see you, David.

Likewise. Hey, it's cold. Let's get inside. Does your driver need any assistance?

John? Do you need help?

No, sir, the driver smiled as he began to unload the luggage from the trunk. I'll be just fine.

Very well, David said. There's hot cider and fresh apple pie waiting downstairs in the kitchen. Please help yourself when you're finished!

Obliged, Mr. Morehouse.

Inside the two men quickly retired to the parlor and began catching up. Warm greetings were had with David's wife and children. Benny took time between clever anecdotes to further admire the Morehouse home. Inside this house, he could identify precisely what he had been missing. There was a warmth and charity among the family that was sorely missing in his own extensive estate. While, in this house, there was laughter, the fragrance of flowers and fresh cooking, in Benny's home, it seemed, he could hear only the ticking of the clock. The imported mahogany had smelled more of coffin wood this year.

I hate to do this Ben, David said as he stood to build a fire. But do you mind if we just get business out of the way? I hate to do so abruptly...

No, you're quite right. Best we do it now than before we start drinking, Benny laughed.

Good, good. David lit the fire and returned to his chair. Well, first things first. I believe the County Dispensary in Charleston will undoubtedly be one of the most lucrative in the state... with the exception of Greenville, of course.

You're too kind.

By the way, I'm afraid I didn't ask. Will you be moving to Greenville?

No. The governor has graciously allowed me to stay in Columbia. After all, there's little need for me to be on hand, day to day. I'll keep an office there, but since I'll continue to administer distribution, I'll be traveling so often...

Certainly. Well, that's brilliant news. The family and I love to visit you in Columbia.

You're always welcome.

Ben, I'm honored that the citizens of Charleston have bestowed responsibility for the new County dispensary upon me...

You certainly deserve it.

Thank you. I believe we can expect sales over 13% of this year in 1913.

13%? That's a lofty goal, my friend.

David gave a broad smile. Mark my words, Ben. If we continue to provide the people what they want, they'll certainly drink it.

Agreed.

That having been said... David shifted in his chair for a moment. As I'm sure you are aware, I will likely be surrounded by dry counties.

It would appear this way, yes.

The promised 13% might easily become a far greater yield if... your influence might be of assistance.

Benny laughed. What? Do you want me to force the other counties wet?

Oh, no! No, no, no. If it's the last thing you do, please. On the contrary, I would rather I might have certain assurances that should we, in Charleston County, turn a blind eye to, say, visitors purchasing our wares...

I understand.

After all, it's truly out of our hands. Once the stock is across county lines, it will be a matter for another jurisdiction.

Of course.

Now, the poor patron may find themselves at the mercy of the law but should another county demand a state investigation into these sales –

You have my word that said investigation will be a long and arduous one –

I see.

Likely to take years to produce any sensible conclusions.

David reached over and shook Benny's hand. After all, it's in everyone's best interest.

I couldn't agree more.

This brand of cronyism that gleefully existed between Mr. Morehouse and Benny was not surprising, nor should it have been unexpected. It was not the first time that either of them had reaped the benefits of a misguided sense of trust among their constituents. After all, in South Carolina, while citizens took sides and rallied against each other, those in power on both sides of a leering Prohibition got rich amidst the pandemonium. It was the nature of the world. Benny was just happy to be on the winning team.

It had all happened somewhat accidentally. Benny, an educated gentleman from North Alabama, had made his way to the South Carolina capital with the intent of practicing law. He had a significantly connected uncle who aspired to place him in practice with his firm. However, before this career-path could take, Benny had made the acquaintance of Sherman Tinsley, South Carolina’s newly appointed State Dispensary Commissioner. Impressed with Benny's knowledge of the law, he quickly recruited the young man to serve in his department. By 1900, at the age of 22, he was working for Tinsley and making a tremendous impression. Benny had always been charming. This coupled with his good looks and obvious intellect, made him an emerging star in the state's capital. A few years later, when Sherman died, Benny, who had won great favor with the governor, was not surprisingly tapped as the new State Commissioner.

The system, however, was bizarre, even to an inside man like Benny Watt. The argument toward Prohibition had raged since he was a child but when he moved to South Carolina, there was something otherworldly about the debate. It was a careful game of pretending to strictly regulate the sale of booze while, at once, making rich men of those in government office. The citizens really didn’t have a say in the matter and even the politicians aligned with the Prohibitionists were okay with that.

After all, it was give and take. Most importantly, should those who’d issued promissory notes to the Temperance movement wholeheartedly accomplish their supposed goal of making South Carolina a dry state, the churches would no longer have reason to fill their coffers with funds to fight the demon alcohol. This sort of outrage was far too lucrative. So concessions were made and, in turn, the citizens were dizzied by the bureaucratic slight-of-hand. Benny thought it was all a curious process of reconciliation.

The State controlled the sale of liquor, and this was something of a victory for everyone. The alcohol was still to be had, and livers to be poisoned, but it would be regulated. The state oversaw the distilleries, the bottling and the sale of all alcohol. It was Benny’s job to see fit that supply met the demand. He was also charged with keeping the system beneficial for the state. It was rare that any alcohol produced beyond the borders of South Carolina would be sold in the state-run stores. Under the table, of course, bribes for blind eyes were paid all around. In time, it would be rare to encounter a politician in South Carolina who did not have a financial stake in a county brewery, distillery, glass factory or, at the very least, a still. Quite inevitably, some also began investing in out of state production facilities.

So, it came as no surprise when earlier in the year, a new law took effect, dismantling the State Dispensary. It had only been a matter of time. Everyone knew the system had been a gross failure, and while this was a source of stress for Benny, he ultimately took no immediate blame for the downfall. The Temperance League had focused their attention on a select bastion of especially corrupt state lawmakers and, for the moment, Benny was not among them.

It would have been poor form to attack the clearly God-fearing and glad-handing Governor and he in